


Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

by FalconFate, Mustangsjoeka



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe: Saruman meddles, I've never written something this long before, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Some book canon, Some movie canon, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, i think, only possible to a bit of violence none of the others, this will have a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconFate/pseuds/FalconFate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mustangsjoeka/pseuds/Mustangsjoeka
Summary: It was a deceptively peaceful morning in the Shire when the will of a wizard disrupted Bilbo Baggins’ regular routine. How could even a hobbit think of tea time when a wizard sets you a “simple” task to protect your home?"Saruman smiled, and this time his cold eyes were alight with triumph. “You must follow the dwarves. And kill the one who leads them.”"
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, maybe be others later on
Kudos: 19





	1. An Unexpected Guest

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hobbit fic and the longest I've ever written. This is based on a dream I had like a year ago which is quite a bit different than this story. This has been edited and heavily aided by FalconFate (thank you for putting up with my incessant questions, letting me bounce ideas off you and catching my word flubs).  
> I have several of the next chapters written and will post them once a week, I think?  
> Hope you enjoy!

##  _Isengard_

The trees in Isengard were beginning to change their colors from lively green to a deep brown that was almost black as Gandalf rode towards the tower looming before him. He did not give consideration to the fact that in years past, the leaves had once turned from green to gold and red, not to a dull and crackled brown. He had too much on his mind, too much that he wanted to discuss with the leader of his order, Saruman the White. 

“The year grows old, and Gandalf the Grey rides to Isengard seeking my counsel,” Saruman said as he descended the steps of Orthanc, with a smile that did not quite meet his dark eyes. “For that is why you have come, is it not? My old friend….” 

“Saruman,” Gandalf bowed his head in respect. “It is indeed. I seek your counsel on something that has long weighed on my mind.”

“I do not imagine that this is about the One Ring, as you are aware of my thoughts on the matter. It flowed out to sea. I myself have searched the Anduin for it.”

“I can only hope that you are right,” Gandalf said with a smile. “No, I did not travel this far for that. I came on the matter of a dragon.”

“Smaug?” Saruman asked, and he motioned for Gandalf to follow him up Orthanc’s steps. “He has been sleeping for sixty years, has he not?”

“He has not been _seen_ for nigh on sixty years, yes, but he may not sleep. When I was in Dol Guldor, Thrain said he believed that the dragon and _Sauron_ were in league—”

“ _Thrain_ said? You told me that Thrain barely knew his own name—and you wish to take his counsel?” Saruman scoffed, leading Gandalf into a room lit by many tall candles, and tables stacked with ancient books and scrolls.

“He had enough sense to give me a map of Erebor and a key and to tell me to give them to his son,” Gandalf said shortly, jabbing his staff into the ground and leaning on it. “Who knows how long he had been there, listening to Sauron’s plans? He may have had insight that we would be wise to consider.”

“Very well. What do you wish to do with this… _‘insight’_?”

“I wish to… encourage a quest. A quest for Erebor. I believe it is time that I pass on the map and key to Thrain’s son and heir, Thorin Oakenshield. It is time for him to reclaim his homeland. I have looked for a Warrior or a Hero, but they are all busy fighting, and they are scarce in these parts. So I have decided on Burglary, as I believe this map shows the existence of a secret entrance.”

“Burglary? You may need a hundred burglars to remove even a portion of the gold in that mountain—and to do it under Smaug’s very nose? You will need one who is quiet, and probably invisible, too.” Saruman made a noise of derision— it was not quite a snort, as snorting was not proper for wizards. 

“I don’t know about hundreds,” Gandalf said, his eyes shining with a knowing gleam as he straightened his back and stood to his full height, “but I have one in mind who is very little on his feet. He can go unseen by most if he wishes. He may not be invisible, but his scent will be unknown to the dragon.”

“Quiet and unknown to Smaug? Where did you find such an individual?”

“He is a hobbit, and he goes by the name of Bilbo Baggins.”

* * *

Gandalf left Isengard for Bree, where he planned to have a ‘chance meeting’ with Thorin Oakenshield. Saruman still sat where Gandalf had left him in his room high in Orthanc’s tower. He closed his hand tightly around his black staff and stood. He must pay a visit to this hobbit before Gandalf did. 

##  _Bag End_

It was a fine spring morning that saw Bilbo Baggins sitting on a bench by his front door to enjoy the crisp, early air. He smoked a long wooden pipe and read his morning letters. He did not notice the tall man with white hair who stood by his gate for an embarrassingly long moment, and when he did look up, he nearly leapt out of his skin in shock.

“Good morning!” he said in surprise, as he took in the man in a white robe, leaning on a black walking stick, set at the top with a polished silver stone.

“Good morning, Mr. Baggins,” said Saruman—for the man in the white robes was, indeed, Saruman, smiling at the hobbit through his white and grey beard.

“I am sorry, my dear sir, but you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t seem to know yours.” If Bilbo had been a bit wiser, he might have found this fact unnerving, but fifty quiet years in the Shire had not given him cause for such suspicion. 

“Forgive me, Mr. Baggins. I know your name because we have a mutual friend, Gandalf,” Saruman said, with a slight incline of his head.

“Gandalf? Not the wandering wizard who used to make such excellent fireworks?” Bilbo chuckled, remembering the bright colors and shapes. “The Old Took had them on midsummer’s eve! Splendid!” 

“Yes, my fellow wizard, Gandalf. He did make a particular study of bewitchments with fire. It is partially on his account that I am come to your lovely Shire. Might I speak with you in private?”

“O-of course!” Bilbo, despite his trusting nature, had begun to feel slightly unnerved by this man who spoke of his childhood friend studying ‘bewitchments’, but a proper Baggins does not turn away a guest. “Please do come in! I’ll put on the kettle. Or perhaps you would prefer something a bit stronger?”

“For this, _you_ may prefer something stronger,” Saruman said as he stepped through the gate and strode up the stairs. Bilbo scrambled to his feet and opened the round door to his hobbit hole. Saruman watched as Bilbo entered the house and started down the hall, towards the pantry.

“I will bring up some of the old vineyard that my father laid down. Please come into the parlor, make yourself at home!”

Saruman turned to look over his shoulder before entering and saw the tip of a pointed blue hat just over the hill. He quickly ducked into the low-ceilinged hobbit hole and closed the door behind him.

“I would appreciate something to eat after my long journey as well if it’s not too much trouble,” he called after the hobbit. He heard Bilbo’s assent and assurances that it was “No trouble at all, no trouble at all!” from deep in the pantry—so deep, in fact, that Bilbo did not hear the knock of Gandalf’s staff on his door.

Bilbo drew up a table and chairs for himself and his guest. He set down some beautiful round seedcakes, a pot of rich Devonshire cream, two crystal glasses, and a green bottle of red wine. He poured Saruman a glass of the fruity wine, and then one for himself.

“I shall get right to the point,” Saruman said brusquely, “as this is urgent and it is best that the task I am going to set you be undertaken soon.”

“A task?” Bilbo asked. This was beginning to sound a bit more than he bargained for in letting the old man in. He began to fret and wring his hands, and reached for his glass of wine to keep it from showing.

“Yes, but before I assign you this task, I must first tell you of something that happened many years ago, somewhere far—but not far enough—from your peaceful Shire.” Saruman’s voice became low, and ominous, as he gave Bilbo his recounting of the ill-fated tale. 

“Over a hundred and fifty years ago, there was a dwarven kingdom in the north called Erebor. The dwarves of this kingdom, as all Dwarves, were greedy, so greedy that they forfeited a treaty with the elves of the woodland realm for the want of white gems. In their greed, these dwarves had delved deep into their mountain—some might even say too deep, but they would not be swayed to give up their purpose, for the riches they found were magnificent: a great deal of silver, gems, and even some mithril. But the _true_ wealth of the mountain, and the very heart of their undoing, came from Erebor’s great seams of gold

“This, undoubtedly, is what brought on the dragon. 

“The dragon came from the north, a firedrake descended from the survivors of Morgoth’s battle-bred monsters. He razed a nearby town of men before he turned his sights to the mountain, where he decimated the dwarven soldiers and rooted out every speck of gold in the mountain for his nest.

“Some of the dwarves survived. They fled to the Blue Mountains, to the west of the Shire. They gave no aid or recompense to the soldiers or townsfolk of the city that their greed had destroyed. And now, because the dragon has not left his golden nest in the mountain for sixty years, these dwarves believe they can return to Erebor, to reclaim the mountain and its riches. 

“But they will fail. I have foreseen it. They will wake the dragon. And he will, in his revenge, destroy everything between Erebor and the Blue Mountains.” As he finished his story, Saruman paused to watch the effect it had on the hobbit. Bilbo squirmed in his seat.

“That is… very unfortunate,” Bilbo breathed. “H-However, I don’t know what I that has to do-”

“Mr. Baggins, the Shire lies directly on the path from Erebor to the Blue Mountains,” Saruman slammed his stick into the floor at his feet, but smiled and softened his grip on his staff when the hobbit jumped. “Smaug will learn where the dwarves came from, and he will seek to destroy their stronghold. He will burn and pillage the lands he flies over, _including your home_.”

“But… _why_ ? Why would he attack the Shire?” Bilbo cried, leaping from his seat. He began to pace around the room. “And what can I do about it? What use is _knowing_ what could happen?”

“Peace, my dear halfling,” Saruman told him, raising his hands in supplication. “I will tell you what you can do. It is very simple. You can prevent the whole tragedy with one very simple task.”

“What is it?” Bilbo sat back down on the edge of his chair and clasped his hands tightly. 

Saruman smiled to himself; the hobbit had all but agreed. He leaned forward, and quietly told the hobbit, “There is one who will instigate these events. He wants to start a quest, a quest to reclaim what he believes is his birthright. He is the grandson of the King under the Mountain whom the dragon displaced. He believes he should be king of this mountain. But there is madness in his family, and it has taken root in him. He harbors a greed for gold so strong that there is _nothing_ he will not do to get it—there is no one and no thing he would not sacrifice. His name is Thorin Oakenshield.” 

Saruman lowered his voice even further, noting with satisfaction that the hobbit had nearly fallen from his seat as he leaned in to listen. “If he was… _removed_ from the equation, shall we say… there would be no foolish quest, and the dragon will continue to sleep.” Saruman paused, then laughed. “Don’t you hobbits not have a saying? ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’? Well, in this case, it would be ‘let sleeping _dragons_ lie.’”

“Yes, yes, we- we do say that,” Bilbo let out a short, breathy laugh. “But I have never heard of this Thorin—why should he listen to me? Surely he would listen to you, a wizard?”

“You would think so.” Saruman smiled at the hobbit, but it didn’t reach his eyes—they remained dark and cold. “But I do not think he will listen to anyone. However, I do still believe there is a solution. For his plans, he needs a burglar who can move quietly, and whose scent is unknown to the dragon. A hobbit would best suit the part. And I believe, Mr. Baggins, that he will seek _you_ out for this venture.”

“Me?” Bilbo gaped, aghast. “I’m not a _burglar_. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“I do not doubt that, but Gandalf was a friend of your mother, who had a bit of the Tookish fae about her and he thinks that you do as well,” Saruman said. “ But you are a very respectable hobbit. A respectable Baggins. And that respectability will be important to your task.”

“Right, my task,” Bilbo muttered. He frowned at the wizard. “What is my task? You said I could prevent this simply. What do I need to do to protect my home?”

Saruman smiled, and this time his cold eyes were alight with triumph. “You must follow the dwarves. And kill the one who leads them.” 


	2. A Shadow of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo follows the dwarves out of the Shire. And runs into their camp in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! So far I have stayed on schedule. I think things start to get a bit more interesting here (and also a bit more challenging for me to write characters properly).   
> I hope you enjoy!

##  _ The Green Dragon Inn, Bywater _

The hobbits who ran the Green Dragon Inn were not entirely unfamiliar with dwarves. Dwarves passed through the Shire on occasion and even made sales to the hobbits who inquired about their goods. The hobbits were, however, unfamiliar with having companies of thirteen dwarves in their tavern. They barely had room for them all, and their sixteen ponies. The dwarves were inclined to grumble about the small beds, but they were soothed with ale and food. But when the wizard arrived, it was too much for the rotund barkeep.

As the tall wizard stooped into the tavern, the barkeep threw her cleaning cloth on the bar and bustled into his path, planting herself to the floor with her hands on her hips. “Now, sir! I am sorry, but I just don’t have any beds for big people in my inn, and I barely have any rooms left as it is!” 

“Do not worry, my dear lady, I will not be staying,” said Gandalf. “I am just looking for some friends I was supposed to meet here. Are there any dwarves staying here, by chance?

“Too many! They are in the front room eating enough food for an army!”

“Thank you!” Gandalf bowed his way out of the bar-room, partially out of respect for the barkeep, but mostly out of respect for the low ceilings. 

Thorin spotted him immediately and stood to greet him. “Ah, Gandalf,” he said. “Did you find us a burglar?”

Many of the dwarves snickered into their tankards, as they were of the firm belief that there was little chance of finding any suitable adventurers in the entirety of the Shire. 

“Well, I found his house alright,” Gandalf told him, his face clouding with worry, “but I did not find him, which surprises and concerns me. I would suggest that you delay your departure so that I may look for him, and then we may be on our way.”

“A missing hobbit is no concern of ours,” Thorin said. “We will leave at eleven sharp. Your friend could hardly get into much danger here.” Thorin stood and strode past Gandalf. “Everyone, eat quickly! We need to saddle the ponies.”

Gandalf sighed and looked after the dwarf. Thorin was right that Bilbo could not get into much danger in the Shire, and his house looked well kept. He must have simply been visiting someone, Gandalf assured himself. Perhaps he would leave a letter for his friend, and he might catch up with them.

##  _ Bag End _

Bilbo scrambled around his house, picking things up and then putting them down again. “What am I to  _ do _ ?” he gasped aloud, then clamped his hand over his mouth. He sank down onto a box in his hall with a small moan. 

_ I cannot kill someone! And yet I cannot stay here and do nothing. No one in the Shire would believe me… “Hello, Mr. Constable Sir, we need to stop some dwarves from going on a quest. Why, you ask? Well, you see a  _ **_wizard_ ** _ came to my house and told me that they are going on a quest that will wake a  _ **_dragon_ ** _ that is going to come from a mountain halfway across the world to  _ **_kill us_ ** _.” It’s nonsense! I will have to…  _

_ I will follow them. Maybe I can convince them to heed the wizard’s warning, and if not…. _

Bilbo got together a few belongings that he thought might be useful—however, as he was not one for camping, he did not really know what would be useful or indeed have many useful things to choose from among his many mathoms. In the end, his pack had a blanket, some spare clothes, a bit of money, and some bread. 

He paused for a moment when he caught sight of a small firewood hatchet.  _ I hope I never have to use this,  _ he thought as he tucked it into the side strap of his pack. He found his walking jacket and his walking stick and set them with his pack by the door, then he sat down to write a quick note to his gardener, and an only slightly longer letter to his kin. 

He knocked on Holman Greenhand’s door a few moments later. 

“Well, hello, Mr. Bilbo! What can I do for—” 

“Could you please take these?” Bilbo pushed the letter and his keys into Old Holman’s hand, not meeting his eyes. “I have to go… away for a while. I should be back soon. Please take care of Bag End, and, if I do not come back soon, pass that letter on to the Tooks, please.”

Before he could receive any response, Bilbo turned on his heel and headed back to his door. He put on his jacket, picked up his pack, and his walking stick. He paused and looked back once more to his house and his garden, took a deep breath, and then began to make his way towards the Green Dragon Inn, from which, according to Saruman, the dwarves would be leaving that morning. 

##  _ The Green Dragon Inn, Bywater _

Thorin surveyed his company from atop his shaggy chestnut pony. There were several squabbles about the packs, and some dwarves were struggling to mount their ponies. 

Bombur was arguing with his cousin Bofur, insisting that he had too much in his saddlebags, while Bifur gesticulated wildly. 

Ori kept trying to mount his long-suffering pony but kept falling off until Dwalin, grumbling, finally dismounted his pony and threw Ori into the saddle, before he turned back to his own mount. This resulted in a squeak from the young scribe who then tried to situate himself in the saddle while hiding bright red cheeks. 

Oin had to loudly ask Gloin to repeat his muttered complaints while his brother tried to shush him. Balin was beside Thorin on a white pony, with a riding desk set in front of him.

“All present, it seems,” Thorin observed solemnly.

“All thirteen, yes,” Balin murmured, looking around at the surrounding dwarves with despondency. “But not thirteen of the best, or brightest.”

“I would take these each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills—”

“Aye, because you  _ don’t _ have an army from the Iron Hills, you have... this,” Balin gestured vaguely and sighed. He looked at Thorin seriously. “You don’t have to do this. You have done honorably by our people.”

“From my grandfather to my father, this has passed to me.” Thorin pulled the silver key on its gold chain from under the collar of his blue tunic, and held it so that Balin could see it. He pinned Balin’s gaze with his own as he intoned, “They dreamt of the day that the dwarves of Erebor would reclaim our homeland. And so do I. There is no choice, Balin. Not for me. 

“And When I called these dwarves, they answered. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that.”

“Well, then. We may not have a burglar, but we will see it done.” Balin nodded and patted Thorin’s shoulder. 

The corners Thorin’s eyes briefly creased in some semblance of a smile, before he turned to the company and barked, “Come on! Everyone, get on, off we go!” 

To the barkeep’s great relief, the dwarves and Gandalf set off.

Bilbo watched this scene from behind some trees. When he saw Gandalf, he almost stepped out in a brief moment of joy, but the dwarves and the wizard set off at a steady trot and passed him before he could make up his mind.  _ Well,  _ he decided, _ I’ll follow them. They’ll have to stop sometime. Then I can talk to Gandalf. And surely he can convince them to stop. _

When they were only a slight distance ahead of him, Bilbo discreetly stepped onto the path and followed.

##  _ The Old Forest on the East Road _

Bilbo was, simply put, lost. He tried to follow the company, but as they were not on foot, they quickly outpaced him. He had stepped off the road to try to make a short cut, and now he was lost in wilds he had never set foot in. He did not remember the empty lands around the Shire seeming so big on his maps. 

He wandered for several hours after dark until he saw a light through the trees. He crept towards it, and, when he was still quite a way off, he heard a loud, rumbling snore.  _ All this Dwarvish racket!  _ he thought with relief, though it mingled sourly with a wretched sense of guilt.

He searched the camp and saw the sleeping forms of many dwarves, but no wizard. Bilbo did not know what to do. With no wizard, he couldn’t possibly convince these dwarves to stop their quest. Maybe he  _ would _ have to…  _ No! I will  _ **_not_ ** _ do that! I will sit and wait for Gandalf to come back, surely he can’t have gone far…. _

And so Bilbo sat, in the forest, alone. He sat at the base of a tree and shivered, and not just from the cold. Instinctively, or perhaps not, he gripped his little ax in his hand. He drifted in and out of sleep for a few moments, until he heard howls in the distance. He shot to his feet and stood, stock-still. He stayed frozen until he heard another louder, closer cry from behind him—and then he began to run. He ran blindly for a few moments until he ran right into the dwarven camp, and as Bilbo stumbled to a halt before he could do or say anything, a large, bald dwarf snatched his upper arm.

“Who are ye?!” the dwarf shouted, shaking the hobbit roughly—which was unnecessary, as he was already shaking. Nearby, Thorin jumped to his feet, his sword in hand, and the other sleeping dwarves began to rouse.

“Wha-? Wh-?” Bofur mumbled, and then stood so quickly, his hat fell over his eyes.

“I- I’m Bilbo Baggins. I’m a friend of Gandalf!” Bilbo squeaked.

“A friend of Gandalf?” Dwalin looked at Thorin, then glared again at Bilbo. “Well, he’s not here right now.”

“Who are you?” Thorin looked the hobbit up and down, from his curly hair to his fine waistcoat to his hairy feet. “You followed us from the Shire, did you not? Why?”

“I- I need to speak with Gandalf, please…” Bilbo said shakily. He tried to pull away, but Dwalin still held him fast. It was then that Thorin saw the ax. Despite its diminutive size, the blade dulled from years of cutting firewood, and especially the size and manner of its wielder, his suspicious instincts took over. With a shout in Khuzdul, he grabbed the ax from the hobbit’s hand and threw it to the ground. 

“You come running into our camp armed?” Dwalin roared. 

“Bofur, hand me some ropes, we must bind him!” Thorin growled.

“No! No, I didn't mean to-!” Bilbo’s protests were barely heard and completely ignored by the two old warriors. Bofur scrambled over and handed a length of rope to Thorin. As he approached and he got a good look at the hobbit, doubt flooded his mind.  _ What could such a small creature do against us? _

Thorin took the rope, and he and Dwalin bound the hobbit’s hands and feet. Dwalin flung him none too gently down near the fire. Balin approached his brother and their leader to voice his concern.

“Thorin, he’s a halfling with a firewood hatchet. What could he have done?” Balin spoke quietly but firmly to Thorin.

“He remains bound until Gandalf gets here and explains this to us,” Thorin’s tone was one that brook no argument, and he brushed past his old advisor without another word. Balin took a deep breath and turned to their little prisoner, who looked stone-faced into the fire. 

* * *

Few of the dwarves slept that night. Kili and Fili stood guard over the camp, near where Thorin sat. They did not think the hobbit was much of a threat, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying to protect their beloved uncle. Gloin and Oin were relatively unconcerned and had barely woken in the first place. Nori and Dori sat to either side of their sleeping brother. Bombur’s snores filled the air as he slept deeply while his cousin and brother, Bifur and Bofur respectively, murmured softly to each other in Khuzdul. 

Bofur kept glancing over to the fire, where Dwalin sat across from Bilbo and sharpened his ax at Bilbo, and manage to threaten the hobbit without ever actually looking directly at him. Bilbo had looped his bound hands around his legs and rested his forehead on his knees, and was shaking despite the warmth of the fire. Balin watched the hobbit from his brother’s side. 

It was not until just after dawn when Gandalf returned back to the camp.

“Well, this is a fine chance!” he said when he saw Bilbo. It was only as he drew closer to the fire that he noticed the ropes. “What have you done to him? Why have you tied up my friend?”

“Gandalf-!” Bilbo tried to stand, but couldn’t push himself up with bound hands.

“He ran into the camp with an ax!” Dwalin stood and growled at the wizard. “He ran right into Thorin!”

“It’s just a hatchet for firewood!” Balin said in exasperation. 

Gandalf strode to Bilbo and helped the hobbit to his feet. He made to cut the ropes that bound him, but Thorin stayed his hand. Bilbo looked wildly back and forth between Thorin and Gandalf.

“The halfling says he is your friend, and yet he runs into our camp in the middle of the night with a weapon,” Thorin kept his voice low, but his anger was evident. “Did you tell him of our venture?

“Mr. Baggins is the hobbit I intended to be our burglar. I did leave a note for him the morning we left, but I did not think that he would come,” Gandalf smiled at the hobbit. “There is more to you than meets the eye, my dear Bilbo! But, my friend,” Gandalf’s smile dropped when he saw the miserable look on Bilbo’s face, “you seem troubled. Whatever is the matter?”

“Gandalf, I must speak with you…. we can’t let this quest continue!” Bilbo pleaded, to the outrage of the dwarves.

“Peace, my friends!” Gandalf shouted over them. “Bilbo, whatever do you mean?”

“Your friend, Saruman, he came to Bag End this morning and he told me of the dragon and this quest. He said the dwarves would…” Bilbo glanced around. “He said that the dragon would wake and that he would seek revenge across Middle Earth, from Erebor to the Blue Mountains. Gandalf, he said that the dragon would burn the Shire!”


	3. At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and the dwarves learn more about Saruman's meddling and Bilbo learns a bit more about the nature of dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay to anyone who might have been wait (if there are any)! My semester is coming to an end so I actually have to do my school work and there was a scene with Thorin that gave me hell.   
> Hope you enjoy!

##  _ Dwarven Camp on the East Road _

Thorin paced in front of the fire with his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face. Dwalin stood between Thorin and where Bilbo sat with Gandalf. He glowered down at the hobbit and the wizard as the hobbit told them his story. The other dwarves were scattered about the camp, but they still listened carefully. 

“Saruman came to me. He told me of the mountain and the dragon. And how the dwarves…” Bilbo glanced around and lowered his voice. “How the dwarves… broke a treaty with the elves.”

“We broke no treaty!” Thorin whirled to face Bilbo. “They refused payment-”

“Thorin! Quiet! Let him finish his tale,” Gandalf shouted. Thorin glared but said nothing and turned back to pacing. Gandalf motioned for Bilbo to continue.

“Saruman said the gold in the mountain attracted the dragon. He told me how Smaug destroyed the city of men at the base of the mountain before he attacked the mountain. He said the surviving dwarves went to the Blue Mountains to the west of the Shire, and that now, because Smaug had not been seen for sixty years, the dwarves are to start a quest to reclaim the mountain,” Bilbo paused and looked into the fire. “But Saruman said he had foreseen that they would fail… that  _ this _ quest would fail. That it would wake the dragon and he would seek revenge on the dwarves, not just those who woke him, but  _ all _ of the dwarves, and that he would burn everything between his mountain and the Blue Mountains, including the Shire!

“I couldn’t sit by and do nothing, but…” Bilbo looked up at Gandalf with tears in his eyes. “I couldn’t do what he told me I must, Gandalf. I just couldn’t….”

“What? What did he ask you to do?” 

“He told me I must… I must kill the leader of the company, but I couldn’t! I can’t- ” Bilbo shook his head and buried his face in his still bound hands. Many of the dwarves roared in outrage and Dwalin pulled his ax out. Gandalf held up his hands.

“Stop! Bilbo did not want to do as he was told! He is a hobbit with a good heart,” Gandalf’s voice raised as he spoke. When Dwalin put down his ax, he turned back to the hobbit. 

“I saw you with them, Gandalf, and I knew you could help,” Bilbo looked up at the wizard with a pleading look, then around at the dwarves. “I don’t wish to hurt you, any of you. I wish you had your home, but I beg you, please, do not do this. Let sleeping dragons lie….”

None of the dwarves would meet his eye but Thorin. Thorin stood tall with his head held high. Bilbo could not help but look at him pleadingly, he did not know this dwarf, but for some reason, he craved his forgiveness. 

“Bilbo, the dragon will not attack the Shire. Even if he seeks revenge, the Shire is so far from Erebor,” Gandalf spoke soothingly, but his great bushy brows were furrowed in concern. “Bilbo, are you sure that it was Saruman? Last I knew, he did not possess the power of foresight. Nor did he so strongly oppose this quest when I told him of my concerns about the dragon.”

“He said his name was Saruman and that he was a friend of yours. He wore white robes and carried a black staff with a polished white stone.”

Gandalf frowned but nodded slowly. He turned away from the hobbit and stroked his beard, clearly deep in thought. 

“Well? What does this mean, Gandalf?” Thorin jutted his chin out at the wizard.

“It means… it means I need a fill of my pipe.”

##  _ On the East Road to Bree _

“So… you mean to tell me that this is the hobbit?” Thorin rode next to Gandalf. “Has he done much fighting? He looks more like a grocer than a burglar. And he did try to kill me.”

“Bilbo managed to follow us all the way from Bywater in secret. Do you not think that shows his skill? And if you don’t intend to keep him on as your burglar, why don’t you send him back to the Shire?” Gandalf asked.

“I did mention that he tried to kill me, didn’t I? What if we set him loose and he tries to do it again?” 

“He is a hobbit that has never left the safety of the Shire who carried a small hatchet meant for firewood at night in the middle of the wilds. Did he actually raise it to you?”

“No... But I still do not trust him. He may not harm any of us, but if he still believes what the White Wizard said, he may try to sabotage us.”

“Sabotage? Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves,” Gandalf scoffed in exasperation as he urged his horse forward until he was in line with Kili and Fili, who had the hobbit between them, on a pony, with his hands still tied. To be on a pony with Fili and Kili in charge of him had not been intended as a punishment, but with their insistent jabbering, it was proving to be one. 

“Kili, Fili, I wish to speak to Mr. Baggins. Hand his pony’s lead to me, please.” 

“Baggins? I thought it was Boggins?” Kili frowned at his snickering brother and then at the hobbit. “Why didn’t you correct me?”

“I did, you just didn’t listen,” Bilbo grumbled as Gandalf took the lead of his pony from the brothers. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

“Of course. Those two can be a bit… much, but they do mean well,” Gandalf said, with a surprising amount of fondness in his voice. His joviality quickly faded, however, and he turned to Bilbo with more seriousness in his face. “Bilbo, I did not know that Saruman would come to you in Bag End. I wasn’t even sure he  _ knew _ the location of the Shire. And I don’t know why he told you what he did, perhaps you misunderstood-”

“I did not misunderstand him,” Bilbo tried to fold his arms across his chest, but his bound hands make it rather difficult. “He was plain as day. Do you think I would go running off into the blue if I wasn’t sure it was urgent? I am a Baggins of Bag End!”

“Yes, I am sure you wouldn’t,” Gandalf said thoughtfully. “But you are here now, so you might as well come with us the rest of the way.”

“What?” Bilbo squeaked and would have fallen off his pony had Gandalf grabbed his walking jacket and pulled him back on. “No, no, no, no, I am going back home! You can assure that dwarf— _Thorin Oakenshield—_ that he can release me and I will head straight for home! I want nothing more to do with this, nothing more to do with dwarves or Big Folk,” Bilbo hissed fervently, then raised his voice. “And if you _do_ wake the dragon and it _does_ burn the Shire, then know this! I will haunt you _all_ until the end of days! I will shadow your every step from here to the end of the world if I must, and until the sun no longer rises and the moon splits in half I will remind you, in _great detail,_ of everything I love about the Shire that was burnt! To! A! Crisp!”

“But could you fend for yourself in the wilds on the way back to your home, Mr. Baggins?” Thorin had ridden up behind Gandalf and Bilbo. Thorin still did not trust the hobbit, as he trusted so few, but he was rather impressed with the hobbit’s creative threats. 

Again Bilbo squeaked and nearly fell from his pony. He would have landed smack on the ground if Thorin did not shove him back in the saddle.

“If you can barely stay on your pony, I hardly imagine you could make it all the way back to the Shire by yourself,” Thorin said.

“Well, if I had both hands, I might have a better chance of balancing on this beast!” Bilbo huffed. “What do you intend to do? Keep me prisoner all the way to the mountain?”

“No, we will stop in Bree. And from there we can find someone to take you home.”

“I do not need someone to take me home.”

“You may not, but I want some assurance that you will not follow us,” Thorin said, and before Bilbo could protest, he urged his horse forward to cuff one of his squabbling nephews on the back of the head.

“Well,” Bilbo said, turning to Gandalf. “You heard the dwarf. I guess I am to be sent home like a disobedient faunt.”

Gandalf sighed and turned to share a significant look with Balin, who rode behind them. “That remains to be seen.”

##  _ The Inn of the Prancing Pony, Bree _

The dwarves had been given the use of several hobbit-sized rooms in the north wing that were the only empty rooms left in the inn that night. There was a little parlor with a good sized hearth that soon had a roaring fire as Fili sat down in front of it. There were several round tables set with low, comfortable chairs. Gandalf took one of these and placed it next to the fire where he stretched his long legs out in front of it. 

Bilbo flopped down in a chair in a corner near the fire, having no desire to speak to or help the dwarves. Nor could he help even if he wanted to, as his hands were still bound. He stared rather sourly at the fire, but when Balin came over with his smiling face, Bilbo couldn’t help but soften a bit towards dwarves. Perhaps not all of them were so… abrasive.

“Here, lad,” said Balin, picking up Bilbo’s hands and untying the knots.

“But what about Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ve spoken to Thorin and told him that it must look a bit funny to the innkeeper that one of our number is bound. And,” He continued cheerfully, “if one of us turns up dead in the night, we know whom to blame.”

Bilbo actually laughed at that, and his momentary joy continued when Baranabus Barliman and several Bree-hobbits came in carrying trays of food. 

The dwarves ate and ate and talked and talked. The mood was quite cheerful, and even Thorin smiled after he had a few drafts of the brown beer. After supper, many dwarves and Gandalf lit their pipes and the candles had burned low so the room was smokey grey except for the red light of the fire. 

When Bilbo had returned to his seat in the corner by the fire, Thorin did not notice him through the haze. He leaned his arm against the mantle and began to hum softly; when several of the other dwarves had joined and picked up the tune, he began to sing:

_ Far over the misty mountains cold _

_ To dungeons deep and caverns old _

_ We must away ere break of day, _

_ To find our long-forgotten gold. _

_ The pines were roaring on the height _

_ The winds were moaning in the night. _

_ The fire was red, it flaming spread; _

_ The trees like torches blazed with ligh _ _ t. _

Bilbo looked up in wonder at Thorin, transfixed by the song’s lyrics and the deep-throated singing of the dwarves. He only blinked when Thorin stopped singing and had to stifle a yawn.

“Go to sleep, Thorin. I doubt there’s much danger here,” Dwalin was nearby and spoke softly to his leader. Bilbo turned his head away at the quiet exchange. Thorin seemed so vulnerable. Bilbo did not think he would have sung if he knew Bilbo was so close. And he certainly would not have mellowed so. But for a few moments, before he stomped to bed, Thorin had softened. And Bilbo has seen it.

Bilbo looked into the fire and felt something he never had before. He felt a deep love for beautiful things crafted by dwarven hands. It was a jealous surge of desire in his heart that rose and left him slightly lightheaded. He felt that a part of him that had lain dormant for his whole life, the Tookish part of him, had suddenly awoke. He felt an eagerness to see mountains, explore caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking stick. 

He also craved something more: for things to be  _ right _ with the world. It was not  _ right _ that a dragon had these dwarves’ treasure. He felt a strong pull to stand up and shout that it was unfair, unfair that the dragon destroyed so many lives, unfair that he had been misled by a wizard, but he refrained from that.  _ They deserve their home and they deserve a chance to try to get it back…. And I will help them if I can. _

His reverie was interrupted again by Balin, who had a folded piece of paper under his arm.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Balin said and bowed. “Balin, at your service.”

Bilbo was startled, but a Baggins still remembered his manners. “Bilbo Baggins at yours,” he managed to say. 

“You managed to follow us all the way from the Shire without any of us knowing. Including me, and let me tell you, that is the first time that even a mouse has crept along carefully and quietly under my very nose. So,” he offered Bilbo the contract, “I want to offer you employment as our burglar if you would still agree to be so.”

“I thought Thorin wanted me to go home. He doesn’t trust me,” but Bilbo took the contract anyway.

“He may not, yet, but I do. That may be the opinion of one old dwarf, but it is also the opinion of a wizard. And Thorin has already signed the contract,” Balin added with a wink. He turned towards one of the rooms. “I’ll leave you with that tonight. Think it over.”


End file.
